


If Eyes Could Speak

by Daisoka



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, Graphic Description, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Gore, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2016-06-11
Packaged: 2018-05-06 00:42:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5396339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daisoka/pseuds/Daisoka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was all in his eyes. That he was inaccessible, that it had always been so, and he preferred it that way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

     It was in his eyes. They were deep and violet and unusual, not a colour one would normally expect to see. They were always focused on the ground ahead of him, partly shadowed by the blue hair that hung over his forehead, but their intensity was visible if one looked close enough. If one looked closer still, they would noticed the slight crease of his eyebrows into a small frown that was permanently etched into his  face every day. His lips pursed so they looked thinner than they were. His eyes were vivid but they were glazed—as though his mind were somewhere else.

     His skin was white as paper in the light of the afternoon, clear and bright. The paleness was so accentuated by the contrasting of his dark hair that sometimes it seemed to glow. Smooth as porcelain, but less fragile. He would be considered frail, but always hid beneath a black coloured jacket or coat—one wouldn’t be able to tell. The way his eyes occasionally flitted up from the ground to analyze his surroundings before quickly shying away from making possible eye contact, or the way his hands were always in his pockets, his shoulders hunched enough to express an introversive hostility, made the message clear.

     Still—it was all in his eyes. That he was inaccessible, that it had always been so, and he preferred it that way.

     Kaneki had never seen him before—he must be new. The kid that was clearly much younger than him, never gave him so much as a glance, walked with a distance like a five-meter radius around him even when he was in a crowd. Another face in the crowd, and yet that face—the indigo hair like the depths of the ocean, and his eyes swimming with the tide—it sunk its way into his mind like an infection; his everyday thought contaminated and somehow wondering if every person with blue hair was him.

     It was exactly what he was doing in class. His eyes wandered over every head in the room. There was blue hair, but not _that_ blue hair, and Kaneki didn’t know his classes—he’d never even made eye contact, let alone spoken to him—but he found it satisfyingly sufficient to search all of his own classes, just in case. The kid was no friend of his—their relationship only stretched as far as the unreturned glances Kaneki gave him when he did see him—which wasn’t often, Kaneki wondered if he was attending all his classes—but he felt a small stroke of luck when he saw him enter the class. He was five minutes late, and he muttered an apology to the professor that Kaneki didn’t hear before making his way to an empty seat about four rows down from him. As he was walking towards the seat, Kaneki caught his gaze. His eyes looked a little bloodshot, though it wasn’t uncommon in an early morning class. When they spotted Kaneki, he could see the acrimonious glare in them, even though he could imagine no one else would have noticed.

     After that the class went by normally. The kid didn’t talk or move a muscle except to write things down. Kaneki averted his concentration to the actual class, although his eyes tended to head towards the boy every now and then. There was nothing particularly out of the ordinary about him, but he found himself wishing to know more about him—if even only his name.

     When the class was over, the boy had already packed up his things, and was one of the first people out before Kaneki had even had a chance to close his book. Discouraged with another missed opportunity at talking to him—even though he wasn’t sure what he would say even if he did—he put his things away and left the class with his bookbag slung over his shoulder. When he stepped outside, he was once again rendered invisible by the crowd—not that it was big, but it still consumed him as soon as he entered it and became another face—one everyone saw, but none would remember.

     Kaneki wondered if he would ever get the chance to know the boy. To know why his eyes looked dark despite their brightness. Why the waves looked bleak despite the shimmering sunlight dancing on the tide. He wondered if he would ever take the chance should it pass him by.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was one of those nights again.

     Tonight looked like it was going to be a cold one. If it was this cold now—and Ayato had to tie his scarf around his neck twice so that it covered his mouth and part of his nose even though he was taking frequent swigs of a whiskey bottle he held at his side by the neck like it was as much of a culprit as he was the victim it preyed on—he could imagine it would get much colder later on. Maybe it would snow this time.

     The arm which held the bottle oscillated back and forth like the hand of a monotone, though his movements weren’t unstable—and with his eyes on the ground in front of him as usual and his other hand in his pocket, his shoulders just a little hunched as though to fend off tresspassers—one wouldn’t be able to tell that his demeanor was one glazed with the translucent veneer of intoxication. The bottle at his side was the only giveaway.

     The first signs of winter had appeared weeks ago, and now the skies were cloudy and the air was fogged with a hazy mist, the algid pierce of the weather so intense it felt tangible enough to reach out and slap away. His breaths came out in steady drafts of mist from the condensation, visible even though his scarf was pulled up high enough to warm his lips. The narrow street he walked on as a shortcut back to his apartment from the liquor store was empty, and felt dark even with the moon up ahead, catching at his eyelashes and illuminating his whole path so he wouldn’t even need to squint. His eyelids were low enough so the moonlight wouldn’t reach his eyes, though. It bounced off the bottle and made a little white spot of light on the wall of the building on his left that shuddered and moved back and forth with every small swing of his arm. His breaths were steady but raspy, with a slight wheeze in them from the cold, and the alcohol made his throat feel closed up even more than it was. His eyes were bloodshot and glassy from the harsh wind which made it feel twice as cold. It made him a little numb, and the dreary semblance of the city during the evening—between the silver linings of the buildings and parked cars—was akin enough to his mood that it dissolved the rough edges of his anger just a little that he could manage a dry, ironic smile.

     Yeah, it was one of those nights again.

     The pooling cynical humour that he was here and Touka must be---where? Getting herself into trouble he would imagine—it ate at him like a stone in his shoe. She could do what she wanted, he wasn’t responsible for her and he wasn’t going to take care of her like a baby anymore. If— _when_ —she did get hurt in the end, she would realise he was right.

     So the pooling green envy inside him, despite his efforts to push it away or dismiss it as something else, it didn’t make sense.

     The notion that he was here and she was _wherever_ she was bothered him for some reason, and burned with fury inside him a hundred times more powerful than any alcohol could. Though with the fury failing to manifest itself in little more than a scowl on his features—not so much as a punch to the wall as the anger polluted his veins but his movements remained as casual and carefree as a child’s—power was something he didn’t think he had anymore. There was much more truth to that than his inability to do something about his situation—how he kept telling himself he would finish his studies and then find something for himself.

_I must be kidding myself._

     He came to an intersection in the alleyway, with a triangular building forcing the road into two smaller variations. The alley he took as a shortcut to get home didn’t have an intersection like this, but he took the path to the right anyway, his mind too sedated and slowed down for him to care where he was going.

     And despite the alcohol in his bloodstream and his slow reactions when he had to pause for a full thirty seconds to decide whether to go right or left, he still sensed a presence behind him, and he blinked the frosty dryness out of his eyes before they narrowed. He pulled down his scarf enough for his mouth to feel the gust of cold and raised the bottle to it, his lips lingering on the icey edge before he spoke in a puff of condensation.

     “Who is it?”

     There was no answer.

     “Do I know you?”

     Again, nothing but a howl of wind from overhead.

     “Who _are_ you?!” he growled, lowering the bottle to turn around and glare at whoever was behind him. He was met with the barren darkness of the alley, the shadows of the tree’s on the walls were all he saw, dancing on the bricks with mockery as though they were laughing at him.

     His tight jaw loosened from the false sense of exposure. His shadow was black and tall, stretched and distorted on the ground. He saw another shadow join his own—and the alley became darker.

     He spun around faster than he thought he could—with his level of intoxication.  The person behind him had the moonlight behind him as well as the lights from the city, making them a black silhuoette, outlined with an elegant silver lining that sounded twice as poetic as it looked, especially when the edges of his vision were turning hazy.

     He could make out short hair, such a pure white colour it didn’t look natural, or maybe it was just the light. It was a guy, Ayato couldn’t tell if he looked familiar or not. He had pale, fair skin and dark eyes that he couldn’t quite make out, with his hair hanging over them and the darkness around them, and the alcohol in his system making it even more unclear. He wore dark clothes, much like himself; with a black hooded jacket and a dark coloured scarf wrapped loosely around his neck. His hands were in his pockets, his posture confident, which made Ayato uncomfortable.

     He stiffened. The majority of advances made towards him were not often friendly ones.

     “Are you with Aogiri?” he asked, his voice was low and suspicious and his eyes narrowed. He stopped swaying the bottle and stood still. He wasn’t too drunk to run or defend himself if need be, but with the last contents of the bottle swishing around through the glass, he couldn’t pretend he was sober.

     The white-haired man didn’t give a response, which only unnerved Ayato more. “Hey, I’m talking to you! I said, who are you?!”

     The stranger leaned to one side and tilted his head. “Drinking when you’re upset only makes it worse, you know.”

     Ayato growled in response, but he sensed a hint of familiarity about the guy when he spoke. After a few seconds, he recognised him even though he couldn’t quite make out his face, and his tension—though still there—lessened only a bit at the knowledge that he wasn’t an Aogiri threat. “You’re in one of my classes.”

     The stranger held out his hand. “My name is Ken Kaneki.”

     Ayato stared at his hand for a moment, before he scoffed. “Get lost.”

     Ken Kaneki’s hand retracted, and Ayato continued to eye him with rising skepticism. Aside from his odd hair, there was nothing particularly out of the ordinary about him, but he had a strange air about him—something in his voice and body language that sent prickles of irritation through him as well as the foreboding sense of uncertainty.

     “I’ve seen you around campus.” Kaneki spoke in a smooth, quiet voice, as though he could sense Ayato’s discomfort like he was trying to calm a rabid dog. “But I never got your name.”

     The boy’s eyes fell from Kaneki to the ground again as his grip tightened around the glass bottle. His skin felt numb and the glass felt like ice, and the alcohol was cold enough to sting his lips when he raised the bottle and took a swig. He couldn’t tell if the burn in his throat was from the alcohol or the temperature now. He then adjusted his scarf, pulling it over his mouth and nose again as though for defense. Strangely, it made him feel just a little less vulnerable—even though, being drunk, he was already vulnerable.

     He didn’t know whether to answer or not, but when his skin began to crawl from the persisting feeling of being stared at, he told himself it was just from the cold. “Ayato.”

     Kaneki gave a slight nod, but said nothing else. Ayato felt irritation begin to bubble up in his throat. He’d established that Kaneki wasn’t from Aogiri—though with his daring attitude and tone in his voice that almost bordered on arrogance, he wasn’t at fault for the assumption—so what did he _want_? He didn’t even know him personally and he was still standing there—watching Ayato while he lumbered around in a state he was much less than proud to be caught in. And he didn’t feel like making a fool of himself right now.

     “Don't you have anything better to do?” he spat.

     “Yes,” Kaneki replied bluntly. “But—I think you need to go home.”

     “Fuck you,” Ayato hissed. “Who the hell do you think you are? You don’t even know me!”

     “You’re Touka’s brother, right?”

     Ayato was silenced at the mention of her, and his nose wrinkled in disgust underneath his scarf, though the scowl was evident through his eyes—as though being referred to as _Touka’s brother_ were an insult to his pride. If Kaneki sensed his uneasiness he didn't show it, because he carried right on.

     “You probably shouldn’t be walking around alone right now,” he mused.

     Ayato fumed. “What am I, a fucking girl?”

     “No, you’re just…young.”

     The dark haired boy grumbled and gave him a venomous glare before the bottleneck in his hand slipped from his fingers and gave a _clank_ as it hit the ground, rolling on its side as the contents remained sloshing around at the bottom. Ayato wasn’t sure if it was an accident or if he meant to do it, but he ignored it and started towards the exit of the alley. He walked slowly and carefully, making sure not to sway or stumble so as to make a better impression, though he did lose his balance a little every now and then. Kaneki picked up the bottle he left behind and Ayato could hear the sound of him discarding it into a dumpster before he emerged from the alley into the brightly-lit street. If the moon wasn’t bright enough tonight, the street lamps made him squint and lower his head so his hair could shadow his eyes just a bit.

     When Kaneki caught up with him and walked by his side, it was only then Ayato noticed the small grocery bag in his hand. “What were you doing out here, anyways?”

     Kaneki’s eyes looked grey in the silver light when they flitted over to him. He held up the bag as though it were obvious. “Buying coffee.”

     “That’s bullshit, who buys coffee at mid—“

     “You should quiet down a little, there’s a lot of creeps on this street.”

     This elicited a glare from the younger boy, who turned away and quietened, but nothing without mumbling a few nasty phrases under his breath. Kaneki seemed comfortable with the silence, while Ayato was not used to being approached by anyone, especially on nights like this, when he deliberately tried to hide away from the world around him.

     “Why did you think I was from Aogiri?” Kaneki then asked. The question only seemed to bother Ayato more.

     “That’s none of your business,” he replied. A pause, and then, “How do you know Touka?”

     He almost didn’t expect Kaneki to answer, but he did—seemingly unfazed by Ayato’s stubbornness. “I work part-time with her at Anteiku. It’s a coffee shop.”

     He snorted. So _that_ was what she was doing with herself. Though, it wasn’t like Ayato was any better off, getting drunk alone in alleys and having to explain himself to those damn loan sharks every week, where the only face he ever looked in the eye was his own stone-cold expression in the mirror. And his sister’s friend still ended up being the only face that didn’t look at him with the intent to kill.

     Or at least that remained to be seen.

     “Hey, you tell anyone about this and I’ll wring your neck, old man.”

     “…I won’t.”

     Kaneki could probably tell that they weren’t on good terms, if Touka had spoken of him at all, and he didn’t pry any longer. They walked in silence save for Ayato’s small footsteps, and Kaneki’s slightly slower ones. He managed to vaguely describe what he could remember of the street where he was staying to Kaneki, which turned out to be half an hour away from where he found him on foot. When they arrived below his building, Ayato was pleased to find that Kaneki didn’t expect any thanks, and after having dismissed him when he was told to be careful from now on and leaving Kaneki standing there without so much as a “Later” or anything of the sort, he was glad to be alone again.

     He took a shower, trying his best to wash off any evidence of the alcohol on him. Afterwards, he felt as refreshed as he could be while his head still felt like it weighed a ton. Since leaving his sister, Ayato had always been the type to bite any helping hand that was offered to him, and he was too tired to think straight but after so long of it being _him_ and _him only_ , it was refreshing to have something like that tonight, too.

     But he was tired. In the morning he would feel better, and his head would be clearer, and he would tell himself not to be stupid, because kindness—whether it was genuine or not—never lasted, and it was better to bite the hand that was offered than get used to its touch so as to despair when it went away.

     Kaneki had never even asked him why he had been drinking.

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Kaneki compared this to how he usually saw him—his features hard as steel and his eyes twice as cold and Kaneki could see the fifty-foot wall he built around himself before he even looked at him—Ayato hid in plain sight wherever he went.

     Kaneki didn’t see Ayato the next day.

     There were many possible reasons for this. They didn’t have their class together on that day, and even if they had—with the amount Ayato seemed to have drank the previous night—if his movements and words that were laced with alcohol weren’t enough, then Kaneki had clearly seen that most of the bottle he was holding had been consumed—he didn’t think he would have attended anyways.

     But the day after that they had another class together, and Kaneki didn’t see Ayato then, either.

     Skipping class wasn’t uncommon at Kamii, or any other university—and Ayato hardly seemed to be a dedicated student, unlike Kaneki—so he couldn’t make assumptions. Kaneki only ever remembered seeing him around campus rather than in those particular classes, which led his mind to another point pertaining to which he could scold himself with what Ayato would probably say to him if he knew what he was thinking; what right did _he_ have to be making assumptions _anyway_?

     Ayato was only a boy he saw around the campus, and the first time they’d been introduced, Ayato had downed three-quarters of a bottle of whiskey and was still going—Kaneki wasn’t even sure if he would remember him in the morning. He’d thought Kaneki was from Aogiri tree at first, which would be worrysome to anyone. Someone of Ayato’s age—what was he, 17, 18?—should never be involved with those kinds of people. Kaneki would ascribe his recent concerns to his kind heart.

     And he still remembered it clearly, how the boy’s eyes wandered every now and then so one might feel that he wasn’t quite listening to what they were saying, but he heard and processed every bit of it. How he tried his best to walk without a sway in his step, or speak without stressing his consonants or elongating his vowels enough for it to be evident how intolerant of alcohol he was. His head hung and his violet eyes were downcast—as though he were ashamed of himself rather than keeping away intruders. When Kaneki compared this to how he usually saw him—his features hard as steel and his eyes twice as cold and Kaneki could see the fifty-foot wall he built around himself before he even looked at him—Ayato hid in plain sight wherever he went.

     Kaneki didn’t know much about Aogiri—rumours circulated around school, but not of the Yakuza—but he knew for sure that a child would have absolutely no business with them. Whatever it was must run deeper than he could imagine, and Ayato could get seriously hurt—especially when he seemed to think they were hunting him down. The paranoia in his voice was evident even if his face spoke confidence.

     But Kaneki remembered how bloodshot his eyes looked, and couldn’t help wondering if he had been crying.

     Such a matter would worry anyone.

 

* * *

 

 

     Kaneki wasn’t quite used to being in big, fancy apartments. Since he began attending Kamii and had to manage staying in a little place of his own, any apartment with a minimum of three separate rooms felt like too much for him. This apartment had more rooms than he could bother to explore. It clearly held traditional Japanese design and furnishings, but there was evident respect to Western designs too. Most doors Kaneki came across were open and welcoming, and the doors that weren’t shōji were a grand, dark wood with elaborate oriental carvings. Whoever owned it must have come from a very wealthy family.

     However, it was increasingly difficult to appreciate the interior design of the place with the loud, booming music and the swarming crowd of students walking, stumbling and dancing back and forth through every room. Kaneki couldn’t even tell what music was playing, but the beat was resonating inside his ears with a repatitive ache that he wasn’t enjoying as much as everyone else seemed to be. Kaneki could recognise the younger students from the older ones—the youngers seemed to be more dedicated to having a good time—dancing and drinking—while the older kids seemed to be socialising more than anything else. Kaneki wans’t one to do either, so he headed for the kitchen.

     He would have wanted to explore the interesting lookiing apartment, but with students at every door, the thought seemed less and less appealing, and his main concern became getting out of the crowd.

     The kitchen was no easier to find—Kaneki wasn’t short but with the amount of people attending the party and with more and more arriving every minute, it was hard to see across the rooms. Once he’d pushed through enough people and asked a few for directions, he managed to find it. A large room, with marble counters stretching along the walls with multiple sinks and clear surfaces that could be polished to perfection if not for the empty plastic cups and bottles littering the surface. Kaneki thought he could at least find a drink for himself in the fridge, look around for anyone he knew, and then get himself out.

     There were still people pacing about in this room, but at least it wasn’t as claustrophobic as the other rooms—and the music was a little faded here so that he could still feel the floor vibrating with the beat, but at least it didn’t feel like it was shaking every organ and bone in his body. The headache was fading, too, and the humidity and smell of alcohol and sweat had slightly cleared—like a breath of fresh air.

     And then he spotted a familiar looking boy, with dark blue hair and an open leather jacket, revealing the rest of his black-on-black attire. He was sitting on the counter near the corner of the room, leaning against a cupboard suspended on the wall and having what looked like a very uninteresting conversation with an older looking guy. When the stranger left, Kaneki had to squint a little to make sure it was him, and began walking over on instinct. His eyes weren’t bloodshot tonight, so the violet in them was more vivid, though it wasn’t as visible with the lights just a tad dimmed. But he knew they were those same eyes when they turned to him, stone cold, and then narrowed with a touch of recognition.

     Ayato regarded him for a moment longer, before he turned away. “Look who it is,” he said with a sneer.

     “Ayato,” Kaneki replied.

     “Are you following me everywhere?” he asked in a tone heavy with exasperation.

     “Actually, my friend Hide invited me,” Kaneki leaned against the counter, looking up at the boy who seemed perfectly comfortable perched in his current spot, while Kaneki may have considered it a bit too casual and maybe even a little rude. He raised an eyebrow, and Ayato seemed to notice.

     “I’m familiar with the host,” he clarified.

     Kaneki moved himself from his spot over to the large fridge. He opened the door and was met with a bright light. His eyes began to skim over the drinks and many bottle labels that were in sight. Juices, pop, water, but mostly alcohol. “Who is the host, anyways?”

     Ayato waited until Kaneki had pulled out two beers before he gestured to someone in the next room. Kaneki wasn’t sure if it was a tall, dark haired boy or the brunette girl standing next to him, but he couldn’t say that he was interested to know. Many of the younger students came from very rich families—and all of them were quite the same.

     Kaneki fumbled around in the drawers before he found a bottle opener lying amidst the empty cups and bottles on the counter. He popped them both open and passed one over to Ayato—who scowled as though being offered alcohol was an insult, considering their first meeting— but still accepted it without complaint. Kaneki didn’t drink except on the occasions where it felt like he would be missing out if he didn’t at least have one.

     He knew he had no right to wonder, let alone _worry_ , but his mouth spoke before his mind had time to stop it. “You didn’t show up at class this week.”

     Ayato clicked his tongue as though he were expecting the question. “Tsk, you ever heard of skipping?” He took another look at Kaneki, going over his face in a manner he probably couldn’t see clear enough to do in the alley where they met. He clearly wasn’t any sort of delinquent, and his eyes were brimming with the desire to learn. He sat back again in almost disappointment. “Oh, you’re the _studious_ type. You really haven’t heard of skipping.”

     Kaneki frowned, “I don’t attend _all_ my classes.”

     “No?” Ayato took an indifferent sip of his beer—and he wasn’t smiling, but Kaneki could sense a natural ease and openness about him tonight, but whether it was because he was warming up to him or the general comfort of being sober this time, he couldn’t be sure.

     “No.” Kaneki sipped the drink with somewhat more hesitance—it tasted horrid in his opinion, but there was something about it that made him drink it anyway—before his eyes returned to Ayato. “Why do you think Aogiri’s after you?”

     Ayato’s eyes flitted to meet his for a few seconds with rising skepticity at the personal question before he focused on his beer again—Kaneki felt as though he had made it a general rule not to make eye contact for too long. “Who said they’re after me?”

     “When I saw you in the alley—you thought they had sent me.”

     Ayato gave a clearly irritated eye roll. “Alright, detective. What’s it to you, anyway?”

     Kaneki shrugged. “Well…someone like you shouldn’t be involved with people like that.”

     “‘ _Someone like me?_ ’ What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

     “You know—someone so young.”

     He scoffed. “Well, sometimes shit happens.”

     “I guess so.”

     After that, they began to talk. Not about Yakuza or anything intimate—Kaneki didn’t mention Aogiri and didn’t ask about why Ayato was even in that alley, drinking on his own at midnight with eyes that looked like he’d chopped a ton of onions, or what exactly had happened between him and Touka, even though he was dying to know—he didn’t want to make him uncomfortable, and he’d already established that Ayato’s patience could turn in a second. Kaneki stayed within the boundaries he could without overstepping the line when things got too personal and Ayato didn’t want to talk anymore. They spoke about their class, about their separate classes—mostly of university life and how different Ayato was finding it so far, and how Kaneki was graduating that very same year. Ayato called him an old man again and began to ponder why a senior would be in the same class as him in the first place—to which Kaneki replied that he wasn’t as organised over long-term planning. At some point, he thought he saw a small grin playing on the boy’s lips, but it was gone quick enough to make him question if it was just his imagination.

     And parties were better when everyone was busy enough not to notice the two of them here—alone.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter wasn't actually written in 2016, but hopefully this year will still involve more writing than the last. x


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was only a silhouette from Kaneki’s perspective; a shadow in the dead light, with hair that looked like midnight and eyes that only added dark to the darkness.

 

 

 

     Their car gave them away, really. It was too black and extravagant to belong to any regular person. And even though it was parked a couple of blocks away from Ayato’s apartment, he still recognised it. They never used the same cars—the company provided a different one every day—but they all looked the same to him. They were always black, perfectly washed and polished, they were always late models, and if they weren’t they still moved with the elegance of a new car. Larger than life, like the men that rode them. And the few times when Ayato had been forced to take a rather long drive in any one of those gaudy company cars, he’d memorised the looks of them from the interior rather than the exterior. And the rides were long enough to make him dread the destinations more every minute and hear enough from them conversing about serious topics in the most disturbingly  _casual_ manner to know that he didn’t want to be running into them again.

     And when Ayato returned to his street, having disregarded the groceries he had meant to pick up on his way home, he saw them leaving his building, and he couldn’t see their expressions but they looked impatient not to have found him. A couple of men, one tall and sturdy while the other was more bulky, and a lean, slender female figure, walking with a cheerful hop in her step despite not having found what they were looking for. He recognised her immediately. And Ayato wasn’t going to stick around for them to walk his way and see him. He could only imagine what they would do with him then. He couldn’t go home.

     And that was how he ended up at Kaneki’s door on a Saturday night, at 9:57 PM, soaked through from the rain and looking much less than pleased with himself.

     Kaneki, at the sound of the few angry knocks, felt almost obligated to open the door, but it took him a good few seconds to comprehend who stood on the other side. “Ayato?”

     The boy sniffled. “What?”

     “What are you doing here? And it’s raining outside.”

     “It’s a…long story,” he mumbled. “You mind, you know, letting me in?”

     Kaneki was too stunned to do anything but hold the door open wider for him and step aside. Kaneki wasn’t the type to let random people in—especially strangers who got drunk in alleyways and were being chased by gangsters—but his mind went to Touka and he couldn’t refuse him.

     Or at the very least, he told himself it was for Touka.

     Ayato shuffled in stiffly, his shoes squelching on the wooden floor and both his t-shirt and coat soggy and sticking to his slim frame and he looked less than comfortable. Like he’d been standing under a shower, maybe.

     “Is everything okay?” Kaneki inquired. He glanced at his watch as he closed the door. It wasn’t  _late_ , but they weren’t exactly buddies.

     Ayato started placed his hands in his pockets, then thought better of it. “Can I…crash here for the night? Just one night?”

     Kaneki paused at the question. Ayato stayed by the door and seemed to be trying to determine what to do with his shoes. Eventually he just slumped onto the floor and began taking them off along with his socks.

     “Sure,” he replied. “What happened? Did you fight with a roommate or something?”

     “No.” Ayato had unlaced one of his boots, and it was only then that Kaneki noticed just how long they were. Ending just below his knees, they laced all the way up and while they seemed like good protection for a rainy day—they looked like a pain to take on and off.

     “Fought with a friend? If you came here of all places I would assume you have nowhere else to go.”

     “Tch, don’t you have some kind of filter?” Ayato grumbled. Kaneki only replied with a shrug. His eyes were still glued to the boots, and he took in the rest of his appearance. Ayato had a feminine sort of taste in fashion for a guy, but it wasn’t a bad thing. His appearance sort of amplified his attitude, in a way.

     “You want to use my shower? The rainwater here can get pretty mucky.”

     The blue haired kid looked up at him, short strands of hair stuck to his forehead while the rest was flat and stuck out in odd areas. He didn’t say anything, but his reply was obvious.  _Sure?_

     “Go ahead,” Kaneki offered. “I’ll get you the couch ready.”

     At that point, Ayato had finally removed both his boots and socks, and pulled his violet scarf off from around his neck. “Thanks.”

     Kaneki gave a lighthearted smile as he briefly directed Ayato to the bathroom, before he fetched a couple of blankets from his closet and an extra pillow. As he made his couch suitable for Ayato to sleep on—removing cushions and placing blankets and probably making much more effort than any normal person would out of the goodness of his heart—he couldn’t help but think about what drove Ayato to come here for the night. He either fought with friends or didn't have any. It could have something to do with the Yakuza. Either way, now that he was in his territory, Ayato could be subject to interrogation.

     Then he remembered that Ayato’s clothes were mostly soaked. By the time he was done with the couch and made it look cozier than his own bed, the sound of the shower had stopped running. Kaneki leaned on the wall outside the bathroom door.

     “Do you need me to lend you clothes to sleep in?”

     Ayato made a noise that Kaneki couldn’t identify. Something like:  _I’m thinking about it._

     “Uh, no—“

     “Oh, so you’re one of those people that likes to sleep naked?”

     “No! Just—“

     The bathroom door opened a crack and Kaneki was met with a glaring but clean face, his pale complexion dusted with a light blush. His hair was wet but not dirty, and a drop or two occasionally trickled down his face.

     “You’re a creep.”

     “I’ll get you something.”

     A couple of minutes later and Kaneki knocked on the once again shut bathroom door. In one hand was a small pile of clothes that seemed like the kind of thing Ayato would sleep in. When Ayato opened the door and was handed the clothes—a plain grey hoodie and some sweatpants, complete with a clean pair of boxers—he mumbled a thanks and shut the door hastily. Kaneki wondered if this was his way of being embarrassed. When Ayato emerged, he looked like a girl trying on prom dresses. The clothes were somewhat baggy on Ayato but in the cozy way—they were baggy on Kaneki too. The hoodie hung off him nicely and a small area of his collarbone was visible. It was the most of Ayato’s skin he’d ever seen, and it made him less threatening.

     “Suits you,” he commented.

     Ayato rolled his eyes.

     They walked to the couch, and Kaneki could actually see a hint of emotion on Ayato’s face when he raised an eyebrow.

     “Wow,” he mumbled, running his hand over the folded blanket that was set to the side for him. “You really didn’t need to do all this.”

     Kaneki sat on the other side of the couch casually. “It’s no trouble.”

     Ayato was silent before he, too, took a seat and crossed his legs.

     “So, was it Aogiri?” Kaneki asked.

     Ayato gave a huff and turned his head away from him. “What’s it to you?”

     “Well, now you’re in my house. So I guess that means you answer my questions.”

     The blue-haired teenager scowled and didn’t say anything for a moment, before giving a stiff response. “They were around my block.”

     “Why are they after you?”

     Ayato’s glare was so cold it gave him chills. “ _Now_ you’re asking too many questions.”

     Kaneki ignored him. “You owe them money or something?”

     He paused, his dark eyes barely visible as they examined Kaneki in the black and white of the evening, as though he might be carrying a gun.

     “Yeah,” he replied, slowly. “I’m a little overdue. It happens.”

     Kaneki could lecture him on how he was too young to get into this sort of mess again, but he had a feeling it wouldn’t do any good.

     “You haven’t told my sister that you know me, have you?”

     Kaneki paused and stared at Ayato. His skin looked as white as porcelain, his eyes glistening yet guarded, and he couldn’t fathom why someone would want to hide from their family so much.

     “No.”

     “Good.”

     As the tension between them began to rise again, Kaneki felt a ball in his throat and needed to say something.

     “Where are you planning to go tomorrow?”

     Ayato shrugged. “Back to my place, I guess. I can deal with them.”

     “I don’t think you can. Those are Yakuza.”

     “I’m  _aware_.”

     “You could stay for a little longer, if you want.”

     Ayato hesitated, his eyes flitting up to meet Kaneki’s as they held their gaze for a few seconds before Ayato looked away, his eyes returning to the floor. He then proceeded to lie down, resting his head on the pillow Kaneki had set for him and pulling the blanket over him up to the shoulders. Not a single inch was left uncovered.

     “We’ll see,” he mumbled. He rolled onto his back and look up at the ceiling silently. Kaneki assumed if he wanted to sleep he would have let him know, so to ease the tension, he reached over and picked a remote off the table, pressing a red button as the screen came to life, almost blinding the both of them. Ayato didn’t even seem to have noticed there was a television there, and stared at it with a certain amazement—as though he hadn’t seen one in forever.

     The television was automatically on Kaneki’s new favorite reporting channel, though this time it wasn’t grasping his attention as it normally did. He turned the volume down just enough for it to be comfortable. His mind was hovering towards the expression on Ayato’s face when he suggested he stay longer, like he wasn’t used to kindness. Kaneki wasn’t keen on possibly attracting Yakuza to his home, but there was no relation between them that was traceable—maybe staying longer would be safe after all.

     Besides, Kaneki wanted to know the meaning behind his eyes.

     “You actually watch this crap?”

     Kaneki frowned. “It’s informative.”

     He heard a scoff from beside him, “It’s media bullshit. They’re just trying to distract you from where the  _real_ problems are.”

     “Political, are we?”

     “Tch, no.”

     “What if my interests in watching this were solely observational, pertaining to the censorship of the media and the content they show their viewers?”

     Kaneki only heard a grunt as a response.

     “But thanks for worrying,” he added.

     “Are you always this annoying?”

     “Not if you’re sleeping on the doormat outside.”

     Ayato scoffed and sat up, the blanket falling down to his now crossed legs. He was only a silhouette from Kaneki’s perspective; a shadow in the dead light, with hair that looked like midnight and eyes that only added dark to the darkness.

     “What could you possibly gain out of this?”

     Kaneki hesitated in his answer, though he couldn’t fathom why Ayato would be interested to know. “Perspective. It’s a different way of looking at things. Imagine waking up and seeing the world differently every day. You’re constantly changing as a person.”

     He only received a hum from the black mass sitting next to him.

     “I think I’m gonna sleep now.”

     “Okay.” Kaneki reached for the remote to turn off the television.

     “Can you leave it on?” Ayato asked.

     “…Sure.”

     He got up and left the younger boy to his privacy, sliding the doors between him and the tiny compartment he called a bedroom shut. Kaneki had never met a person so reserved and mysterious, almost as though he were afraid. He wanted to unlock these secrets that were painfully clear, not because he cared, but the curiosity overwhelmed him. He told himself that what he hadn’t already found, he would soon come to find later

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
